


Just Like Your Mother

by Jaybird_Feathersmith



Category: Back to the Future (Movies)
Genre: Alcohol, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Attempted Sexual Assault, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Violence, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape Recovery, Retelling, Self-Defense, Sexual Assault, retelling ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-02
Updated: 2019-02-02
Packaged: 2019-10-20 22:06:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17630552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaybird_Feathersmith/pseuds/Jaybird_Feathersmith
Summary: "Marty’s grandparents used to tell him how much he looked like his mother all the time. It got kind of boring after a while, really, when they pointed it out every time the family went for a visit. He looked more like his Dad, he was sure, or Clint Eastwood, maybe. Regardless, it was never a really big deal. It was just something adults said about kids, like “he’s going to be a heartbreaker when he grows up” or “she’s going to be something” or “kids grow up so fast”.Maybe that was the problem. Maybe he grew up too fast."Marty McFly does not like being told that he looks like this mother. Biff Tannen is the reason why.





	Just Like Your Mother

**Author's Note:**

> *TRIGGER WARNING*: rape/sexual assault reference, completed rape/sexual assault, violence, dissociation, PTSD/trauma reaction, explicit language, abuse of power
> 
> Bad things happen in this fic. It deals primarily with recovery/character study into the reaction to trauma, but the bad shit is still there. Sexual assault is not promoted or romanticized in this fic, but it is a major part of the story. Please take whatever precautions you need for your mental health if you decide to continue to read.

“You know,” Mrs. Parker said suddenly, looking across the supper table at Marty, “you look just like your mother.”

Marty dropped his fork into the mashed potatoes. His fingers, steady and dexterous from years of guitar practice, shook uncontrollably. From some faraway place. Jennifer scolded her mother for ‘saying the one thing she told her not to’, or something. It all sounded distant to Marty, like he was perched at the mouth of a cave and the rest of the family dwelled somewhere inside, their voices echoing through the cavernous walls. Everything seemed heavy, maybe. He reached down to grab his fork again, to resume his supper like a normal person, to pretend for his girlfriend’s family, but he missed completely. Mr. Parker was staring at him now, an eyebrow raised in a silent question. Jennifer squeezed his hand, running her fingers over his knuckles. Slowly, Marty returned to himself.

Mrs. Parker apologized. “I’m so sorry, Marty,” her voice gave away her confusion, “I didn’t know that was a sore subject.”

“Yes you did, Mom.” Jennifer snapped, grip never faltering on Marty’s hand. “I told you that last week.”

“She forgot, Jennifer,” Mr. Parker said, “let it go.” He turned to Marty. “Sorry, Marty. I always thought you looked more like your Dad anyway.”

Marty managed a weak smile. “I look the most like my uncle, actually,” he replied, “but you guys don’t know him.”

Dinner continued around him. Marty bobbed in and out of the conversation like a rubber duck in a hurricane.

After dinner, Mr. Parker took him aside while Jennifer was in the washroom. Mrs. Parker had gone upstairs to get an old photo album she wanted to show him. “You’re not alright, are you,” he started, not leaving Marty room to protest, “and don’t try to bullshit me. My father was a cop, I know what that blank expression means.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” Marty answered quietly, “I’m just trying to move on.”

Mr. Parker tentatively put a hand on Marty’s shoulder, noticing Marty’s subtle flinch. “It’ll be okay, son.”

“Jennifer tells me all the time,” Marty said, glancing around for a way out of the conversation.

“It’s going to be okay,” Mr. Parker said again, “even if it doesn’t feel like it right now.”

Marty nodded. He wanted to believe him. If time travel was possible, so was this, right?

 

If you put your mind to it, you can accomplish anything, right?

 ***

Marty’s grandparents used to tell him how much he looked like his mother all the time. It got kind of boring after a while, really, when they pointed it out every time the family went for a visit. He looked more like his Dad, he was sure, or Clint Eastwood, maybe. Regardless, it was never a really big deal. It was just something adults said about kids, like “he’s going to be a heartbreaker when he grows up” or “she’s going to be something” or “kids grow up so fast”.

Maybe that was the problem. Maybe he grew up too fast.

Biff Tannen was a looming cloud over Marty’s childhood. Marty knew his Dad worked for Biff or worked with him, or something like that. It was natural for the man to come up in conversation, couldn’t really be avoided. Marty’s mom always went kind of quiet when Biff came up. Marty figured she just really didn’t like him. Lorraine was like that with some people, she would just close off around them, polite but distant. Marty didn’t really like Biff either. He thought he was an asshole, though he was careful not to call him that around his parents. George would kind of laugh but tell Marty he was still getting his mouth washed out with soap, but Lorraine would tell George that Marty was right and not to do it. George usually backed down. George did that with everyone.

When Marty was 14 Biff stopped by on a Sunday to get some reports for work from George. George and Lorraine weren't home so Marty was forced to get them for Biff--Linda and Dave couldn’t figure out the controlled chaos that was George’s study, and the game was on. Marty had stormed off, leaving Biff to awkwardly hang out in the doorway and badger Linda and Dave for beer. When Marty returned, Biff had raised an eyebrow and given him the once over. Marty knew that look from TV. He didn’t like it.

“You know,” Biff had said, “you look just like your mother.”

“Eww,” Marty said, rolling his eyes and walking away.

“You should respect your elders. It’s a compliment, Butthead.” Biff called after his retreating back before leaving with a slam of the door. Marty got a Pepsi from the fridge, paused, and grabbed two more for his siblings. He walked into the living room mulling over the words.

“Do I look like Mom?” He asked Linda.

Linda didn’t look away from the TV. “I guess so,” she said, accepting the Pepsi from him. “We all do, don’t we? I mean, we’re her kids.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Marty sat cross-legged on the carpet. He watched the game but didn’t really absorb anything. He felt itchy, dirty even.

“That guy’s a dick,” Dave said, snagging a Pepsi, “I wish he wouldn’t come around here so much.”

Marty nodded in agreement.

 ***

A few months later Biff bumped into Marty when he was coming into the house to get money George owed him. Marty swore and dropped his homework and potato chips all over the new carpet. Biff said something but didn’t help him. Marty could feel his eyes on him as he bent to pick up his things. He stood up as quickly as he could, a little woozy from the headrush.

“What did you say to me, assh--Biff?” Marty corrected himself. Tannen was still a good foot taller than him, and with Dad coming up from the basement Marty didn’t want to risk a shove.

“I said “sorry Lorraine”, but you ain’t Lorraine.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Marty snapped.

He expected Biff to retaliate, but the man just smiled. “See you around then, Marty,” Biff said, swerving around him and heading to the basement. Marty shuddered, but he didn’t know why. He went to his room as fast as his legs could take him and turned up the radio. His Mom came in ten minutes later to tell him off but left when she saw his face. She only nodded at him and told him to turn it down.

Maybe he did look like her.

 *** 

Marty glanced around the room at George’s company Christmas party. Lorraine was visiting Grandma and Grandpa with Linda and Dave was at his job, the lucky bastard, so George dragged his son to the party. “There’s free food, Marty. I know how much you love pizza.” George had said, trying to convince 15-year-old Marty how fun sitting in some boardroom with a bunch of grownups would be.

“I can get pizza here,” Marty replied, not looking up from his magazine.

“There’s going to be karaoke,” George tried again, “you can show off your mad music skills.”

“I don’t sing,” Marty said, ignoring his dad’s attempts to be hip, “I play guitar.”

“I know that, son.” George smoothed his tie. “But I really think you’d have fun.”

“I don’t know anyone going but you,” Marty pointed out.

“And Biff,” George added. Marty stiffened. “Look, Marty, I really don’t want to go alone. You know that I’m no good at talking to people, and I need someone to drive me home after.”

“So don’t drink.”

“I can’t _not_ drink, Marty. It’s an...it’s an adult thing.” George sighed. “I’ll pay you 50 dollars if you go.”

That got Marty’s attention. “And I get the car for a week.”

“Marty, you have a learner’s permit, I can’t do that. It’s illegal.”

“Fine,” Marty rolled his eyes, “but you have to let me go over to Doc’s every night next weekend. And have my friends over to practice in the garage tomorrow.”

“Your mother…” George started, before visibly deflating. Marty hated to use George’s hatred of confrontation against him, but he really didn’t want to go to the party. “Your mother will just have to deal with it. Do we have a deal?”

Marty looked up from his magazine and just nodded. George smiled and left, encouraging Marty to get ready.

Marty wore his only pair of dress pants and a clean tee-shirt under a denim jacket. He wasn’t really trying. No one in the room was really paying attention to him anyway. He lingered near the pizza table, stealing sips of punch when no one was looking. Tacky Christmas decorations covered every surface and every wall. Marty was pretty sure most of them were older than he was. George was milling about the room, chatting with his coworkers. Marty smiled a bit at that. Maybe his father needed him there for social lubrication, but now that he was chatting with other adults he actually looked happy. Marty leaned against the wall, glancing at the clock. 11:30 pm. Only one and a half hours left of this shit, he thought, then he could go home and watch TV.

“Hey Marty,” a voice slurred near him, “whatcha--hurp!--whatcha doing here?”

Marty didn’t turn. “Dad paid me to come.”

Biff Tannen fell against the wall next to him, laughing obnoxiously. His stupid combover was even more coiffed tonight and he wore a cheap green polyester suit. He had a can of beer in one hand and a vodka cooler in the other. “That’s hilarious, kid. Real funny.”

“Yeah,” Marty said evenly, “real funny.”

“You want a drink?” Biff asked him, shoving the beer can towards him. Marty shook his head. “Your loss,” Biff shrugged, downing the rest in one gulp. Marty stared straight out at the gathering again, pointedly ignoring Biff. The older man got closer and closer, slumping more towards him. Marty tried to shuffle away as much as he could without drawing attention.

“You know,” Biff jabbed a finger at his shoulder, “you look just like your mother.”

“I know.” Marty shoved his hands in his pockets. “You tell me that every time you see me.”

Biff ignored him. “You got the same eyes, I think. Real pretty like. Same lips too, nice and full. Nice waist, long legs…” Biff leaned over towards him, his face dangerously close to Marty’s ear, “same tight ass…”

Marty jumped up straight. “You’re being gross, Biff.” Marty stepped away from the older man, “really gross.”

“What, you can’t take a compliment?” Biff growled. “I’m trying to say that you’re hot, kid. No need to get defensive.”

“I’m going to the bathroom,” Marty said, stepping around Biff and trying to move fast enough to leave but slow enough not to be noticed.

Biff reached out and grabbed his arm. “Do you know where it is?” His hand was sweaty and slick with condensation. Marty shook it off.

“I’ll find it,” he snapped, throwing open the door and leaving.

Marty wandered around the building for a while, storming more than anything else. He wanted to puke but didn’t know if he could. He was a boy, damn it. He wasn’t supposed to look like a girl, wasn’t supposed to be pretty like one. He was a handsome guy and he was tough as nails. He wasn’t like George, he wouldn’t let Biff just walk all over him. Marty decided that he’d go to the bathroom, find the coatroom, get Dad’s keys, and wait for him in the car. He wasn’t getting paid to stay at the party, just to go.

Marty found the bathroom on his fourth pass around the sixth floor. It was quiet and he did his business quickly, giving his hands a quick pass under the sink and fumbling with the paper towel dispenser. It was out. Marty wiped his hands on his pants, ignoring the way they shook.

The door swung open. Marty froze. Biff Tannen crossed the room without a word. Marty tried to feint to the left to get away, but Biff drunkenly grabbed at him, snagging his shirt and sending him straight into the edge of the vanity. The fake marble hit him right in the kidney and Marty doubled over. Biff grabbed him by the hair and hoisted him back up. Marty weakly protested through his pain but Biff just stared at him with glossy dead eyes. He leaned down and planted a kiss on Marty’s open mouth, sliding his tongue all the way inside. Marty screamed into it.

Biff pulled back, glaring at him now. Marty struggled against the hand in his hair but couldn’t shake it loose. He stamped on Biff’s toe but the drunken oaf didn’t seem to feel it. Biff just ran a hand down the back of Marty’s pants, squeezing at his rump. Marty froze, heart beating so fast he couldn’t hear much else. “So pretty,” Biff slurred, burying his face in Marty’s neck, “just like your mom. So hot.” Biff started to move against his leg.

Marty felt himself disconnect. It felt like he was watching himself from the ceiling, staring down at his empty eyes and stiff body. His fingers and toes felt cold and clammy and his kidneys hurt but he barely noticed anymore. All he could feel was the hand digging into his butt and the friction against his thigh. Biff moaned both his name and his mother’s.

Marty felt something wet on his leg and, not for the first time that night, he wanted to puke. Biff pulled back, a happy, sated look on his face. “Look what you made me do,” he drawled, reaching for a paper towel.

“I’m sorry,” Marty said, “and it’s out. The dispenser.”

“Hmm,” Biff grunted, turning away to disappear into a bathroom stall. As the stall door shut Marty ran out of the room, past some confused grown-ups in their best Christmas clothes, and straight down the stairs. He didn’t stop running until he got to the parking lot, where he leaned against his Dad’s car and threw up on the pavement. Marty collapsed against the car door, shaking and crying.

By the time George joined him, it felt like hours. “There you are, Marty! I was looking for you, Biff kept asking where you went and…” George’s eyes widened. “You okay, son?” George asked, surveying his son’s sweaty, shaky body. “You look a little green.”

Marty wanted to tell George what happened so badly, but the words got stuck in his throat. Part of him knew that telling wouldn’t do any good. George wouldn’t confront Biff, no matter what. “Yeah,” Marty said, “I think some of the food was bad.”

“Let’s get you home then,” George smiled, offering a hand to Marty. Marty took it and pulled himself up. “If you drive us home I’ll make you some toast and we can watch MTV. How does that sound?”

Marty nodded weakly, accepting the keys from George. When they pulled into the driveway Marty found himself unable to remember how they got home. George set himself to making toast and tea and Marty went upstairs to shower. He scrubbed and scrubbed until he smelled like himself again, and let the water run so hot it fogged up the mirror. Still, Marty avoided looking at himself as he dressed.

George was waiting for him in the living room, patting the couch beside him and then pointing at the tea and toast on the coffee table. Marty cuddled up next to his Dad, covering his body with the blanket.  George seemed a little apprehensive, but eventually just pet Marty’s wet hair until he relaxed enough to sleep. Marty fell asleep watching music videos.

* **

Marty’s friends came over the next day and practised, just like George promised. If any of them noticed that Marty sounded more like Pantera or Metallica than his usual Led Zeppelin-esque sound they didn’t say, but they did notice that he played riffs over and over until his fingers bled.

“Wow, man,” Paul gasped, “you’re dedicated.”

Marty didn’t look up. “Just gotta get this right,” he said, “I want it to sound perfect.”

“It already does, man,” Bobby said. Marty didn’t hear him. 

***

“Did you have fun at the party?” Biff asked the next time he saw Marty. It took all of Marty’s willpower to hold back a punch. Marty settled for flipping him the bird and storming up to his room, Biff’s laughter following him all the way upstairs.

 ***

Marty quickly started spending all his time at Doc’s house. His friends were all visiting family over February break, except for Lee, but Lee had the flu. Doc was more fun, anyway. Watching movies on TV and playing cards got boring after a while. Doc always had something fun to do, was always on six different projects, but took the time to explain everything to Marty. Doc was Marty’s best friend and he enjoyed spending time with him. Biff visiting more frequently had nothing to do with it.

“You know, Marty,” Doc said, watching Marty clean his house, “you really don’t have to do that.”

“I’m eating all your food Doc, the least I can do is clean a couple of things every once in a while.”

“You did this two days ago,” Doc pointed out, gesturing at all four walls of his living room, “how dirty can it be?” He crossed the room to Marty, reaching for the broom. “Put that down and we’ll go see if the compound is dry yet, what do you say?”

Marty saw the hand reaching for him and spun around, backing away from Doc until he tripped over Einstein. Marty continued to crawl until his back hit the wall, Doc coming closer and closer.

“What’s the matter, Marty? You’re acting like you’re seeing some sort of supernatural apparition.” Doc paused, watching his friend’s wide-eyed stare, laboured shallow breathing and clenched fists. “Great Scott, kid, I’m not going to hurt you.”

Marty started shaking. Doc knelt in front of him. Einstein whimpered and started licking Marty’s face, snapping him out of the trance. Tears left Marty’s eyes. “I’m sorry Doc, I’m so sorry, I’m so...:”

“Easy, easy!” Doc raised his hands, trying to calm Marty down. “I’m not angry, Marty, I’m just concerned. I’ve never seen you like this.”

Marty couldn’t speak. His throat hurt and his face was wet. Einstein lay at his side, resting his head in his lap.

Doc sat cross-legged in front of him. “Marty, will you please tell me what’s going on? I’m really worried about you. You come over looking like you haven’t slept in weeks, you never sit still and now...now you’re crying.” Doc sighed. “You’re my best friend, Marty. And I’m scared.”

Marty reached forward and pulled Doc into a hug. “I’m sorry, Doc.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for.” Doc wrapped his arms around Marty, rocking him gently. Marty sobbed into his shoulder. “I’ve got you.” Doc rubbed circles into Marty’s back. “I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

“Something bad happened,” Marty whispered, “something really bad happened.”

Doc felt his blood run cold. “What was it, Marty? Did someone hurt you?”

Marty nodded.

Doc pulled away from the embrace, planting his hands on Marty’s shoulders. “Tell me everything, Marty.”

“You’ll think...I don’t want you to….” Marty stared ahead blankly. “You’ll hate me.”

“Nothing could change how I feel about you,” Doc said, looking into Marty’s eyes. “You’re the very best friend I’ve ever had in my whole life. Nothing in this world, scientific or otherwise, would make me hate you.”

Marty took a deep breath and told him everything.

 *** 

The day after Marty told him what Biff had done Doc made him a can of homemade pepper spray. Marty supposed Doc wanted to do something to help. He made his friend promise not to go to the police. Marty didn’t want to put his parents through a trial.

“It’s much stronger than the stuff you get at the corner store,” Doc said gleefully, shaking the little aerosol bottle. “Twice as strong as bear spray, in fact. If he ever tries anything again, you spray this right in his eyes. He won’t be able to see properly for weeks.”

“Don’t you think that’s a little extreme, Doc?” Marty asked. “I mean, that’s heavy stuff.”

Doc shook his head. “It’s not extreme enough, Marty. Not extreme enough.”

Marty kept it with him wherever he went. It made him feel better when Biff came over to borrow random shit or bug George for some stupid thing he could do himself. Biff never mentioned the incident, just kept telling him he looked like his mother. It made Marty sick, but he could handle it. He had the, as he started calling it, Bigfoot spray. If Doc was right, it could stop a monster dead in its tracks. He didn’t think he’d ever have to use it.

He was wrong.

Biff came over in June while Marty’s parents were out on one of their rare dates. His siblings were at the movies with their respective girlfriend and boyfriend. Marty answered the door without checking the peephole. Maybe the spray made him too at ease, let his guard down. Maybe Biff coming around less did it. Didn’t matter.

“Hey Marty,” Biff asked casually, “George home?”

“No,” Marty said simply, “now leave.”

“Is he going to be back soon?” Biff asked, sticking his head in to look around. Marty tried to close the door on him. Biff wedged his shoulder in the gap, forcing the door open further.

“I don’t know,” Marty said, trying to push him out, “I’ll tell him to call you when he gets back.”

“Is Lorraine here?” He asked.

“No,” Marty growled, “she’s with my Dad.”

Biff finally got enough leverage to push the door open, sending Marty bouncing off the wall onto the floor. “That’s a shame,” Biff said, “a damn shame. You’re here though. Next best thing, eh? You look just like her.”

“Fuck off,” Marty hissed, crab walking backwards away from him. Biff easily caught up to him, grabbing a leg and using it to drag him across the floor. Marty’s shirt rode up and his back scraped against the carpet. Biff dragged him to the living room. Marty started kicking at Biff’s hand but the older man’s grip only tightened. Marty’s lower back and hips lifted off the floor. His neck started to ache. Biff stared down at him. The glazed look from the party was gone, replaced by hunger and resolve. Marty tried to grab a chair leg to regain some sort of advantage. He couldn’t get a good enough grip. His fingers slid off the wood. Biff only rolled his eyes at his attempts.

“Really, Marty? You’re going to fight me now? You didn’t before, why do you gotta make this hard now?”

“Fuck you,” Marty spat, reaching for his pocket. He had to get the spray. Biff threw his leg down, dropped to the floor and tried to crawl over Marty, narrowly avoiding his kicks and punches. Biff pinned one of the boy’s wrists above his head. His hands weren’t sweaty now. He tried to grab Marty’s other wrist but couldn’t get a handle on it.

“I’ve been thinking about you, kid,” Biff said, “can’t get you out of my head.”

“That’s not hard, there’s not much else in there,” Marty retorted. Biff punched him in the face with his free hand.

“Shut your bratty mouth. I’m only being gentle cuz you’re Lorraine’s kid.”

“What are you going to do if she finds out, huh?” Marty struggled as Biff started working his pants down, pushing his shirt up to his nipples. “She’ll hate you, she’ll think you’re a monster. If you stop this, I won’t say anything.”

“If you were going to tell, you would have,” Biff reached down to fumble with his belt. “After the party. You won’t, will you?” Marty was silent. He slowly slid his hand down his side, reaching for the small bottle in his back pocket. He just had to keep Biff distracted until he could grab it. His lip bled. He tasted copper. “You scared of me, Marty?”

“No,” Marty said weakly. It sounded like a lie to him too.

“I think you are. That’s why you’re going to let me do this.”

“And if I don’t?” Marty tried to arch away from the hand trailing down his front, his free arm reaching underneath him into his pocket. Biff just pressed down, pinning him to the floor. Marty’s hand was stuck underneath him. He struggled, working his hand free, ignoring the insistent bulge pressing into him. Biff leaned down and licked a stripe up his neck. Marty headbutted him. Biff moved back, glaring at him. Marty shook.

“Then I’m just going to take what I want by force,” Biff said, letting go of Marty’s wrist and pushing his pants halfway down his thighs. “And it’ll hurt.” He sat up a little, just enough.

“Not as much as this.” Marty aimed the nozzle of his bottle at Biff’s eyes and pushed down. Foul smelling liquid shot out into Biff’s eyes. Biff screamed, flailing backwards. Marty stood up and scrambled to the other side of the room. He pulled up his pants and tucked his shirt back in.

“You little bitch!” Biff roared, blindly reaching for him. “What the fuck?”

“Get away from me, Biff.” Marty raised the bottle again, even though he knew Biff couldn’t see it. “Get out of my house.”

Biff stumbled to his feet, rubbing his eyes with one hand and swiping for Marty with the other. “Where the hell’s the door?”

“I’m not coming near you, asshole. Find it yourself.” Marty pressed his back against the wall.

Biff fell over himself as he tried to find his way out of the McFly house. Marty just watched him, bottle raised in front of him like a shield. Biff swore at him the whole time, calling him names Marty hadn’t heard before. Biff found the door handle, spilling out into the street. He hit a few of the neighbour’s garbage cans as he drove away, and Marty could still hear him swearing all the way to the end of the block.

Marty called Doc as soon as he could. Doc was there in ten minutes. Marty slept at his best friend’s place that night, in a sleeping bag on Doc’s bedroom floor. He didn’t feel safe anywhere else.

 ***

Biff didn’t talk to him for months. When he did, it was “get out of my way, butthead.”

He still told George how much Marty looked like Lorraine, standing at the bottom of the stairs where he knew Marty could hear him.

 ***

Jennifer was a special girl, Marty mused. No one else would put up with him.

When Jennifer asked him out (him! He could hardly believe his luck) Marty was excited. He didn’t really have much experience with girls but he really liked Jennifer. Asking him out first already was a plus in his books. She was smart, funny, patient, kind, supportive, and she was willing to sit in his car and listen to music for hours. Not “parking”, just listening to him talk about how there would never be a better guitarist than Jimi Hendrix and that Elvis was overrated. Jennifer really liked reading. Marty learned to like books more.

When she first kissed him he was fine. He was more than fine, actually. He was over the moon. It was when things progressed further that he started having trouble.

Jennifer laid across her bed on her stomach, kicking her legs behind her. Her skirt rode up and her white bra stuck out against her summer-glow skin. Marty sat on the edge of the bed with his pants undone, shirt unbuttoned. Jennifer just stared at him. Marty couldn’t bring himself to look behind him, choosing instead to stare at the Michael Jackson poster on the wall opposite.

“What just happened?” she asked, nursing a sore arm. Guilt clawed at Marty’s stomach. He hadn’t meant to hurt her, but he panicked when she crawled on top of him and he’d been a bit rougher than he meant to when he pushed her off. Marty let his face fall into his hands.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, just above a whisper.

“I’m not mad,” Jennifer said, watching Marty breathe, “I’m just really confused. I thought you liked me.”

“I do,” Marty turned around. “I really do, Jennifer. You’re perfect.”

“But you don’t want to make out.”

“I do.”

“Then why’d you freak out?”

Marty sighed. “I don’t know.”

Jennifer was pretty sure that he did. “Are you gay?” she asked. “I don’t think it’s a big deal, but…”

"What? No!” Marty protested. “Of course not, Jen. I like girls.” What she didn’t know was that he _really_ didn’t like guys.

“Okay then, so why do you say you want to make out with me but then wig out before it gets good?”

Marty started shaking. Jennifer sat up quickly, sliding over to join Marty at the edge of the bed. Marty kept shaking until Jennifer wrapped her arm around his waist. He leaned into her, settling some. His hands still shook as Jennifer took them in hers.

“Did I do something wrong?” asked Jennifer. “Did I hurt you by accident?”

Marty shook his head. “I really thought I was over this.” His eyes pinched shut like he was trying to cry but no tears would come out.

“Over what, Marty? Please tell me.” Jennifer squeezed Marty tighter.

“Something bad happened to me,” Marty whispered. “Someone did something really, really bad.”

“Oh my God,” Jennifer covered her mouth with her hand. “Marty, what happened?”

Marty took a deep breath.

 *** 

Going back to 1955 was hard. It was hard knowing that he was returning to a future without Doc, harder knowing he might not return at all, and hardest knowing he might fade from existence entirely. Marty survived, pushed through, but it wasn’t easy. He missed Jennifer fiercely. He missed Doc almost as much, even though he was still with Doc. He missed _his_ Doc, who had long passed the point of caring if people knew he had to wear cotton underwear or else suffer a rash. 1955 Doc still had a filter. And Marty would have to tell him what happened. Again.

So he didn’t.

Seeing young Biff was easier than he thought it would be. Biff looked a lot different as a teenager, decent, even. Marty still couldn’t suppress a shudder when he saw him. George asked him about it. Marty hadn’t said a word.

He really did look like Lorraine. He couldn’t deny it now. Seeing her as a teenager made it hard to ignore.

The night of the dance came and Marty’s plan didn’t go as he expected, which was fine because he wasn’t sure he could do anything to his mother, not like Biff did to him. He wondered if that was the whole reason he thought of it to begin with. If Biff taught him that he could use force, power and coercion to get his way. Even if it was to save his own skin he wasn’t sure if he could do it.

He hadn’t expected Biff to show up. When he did, he couldn’t do a thing. He froze again, just like the first time. He only fought when he knew Biff was going to hurt his mother.

Biff had given him an appraising glance, struggling in the arms of his boys. He grinned. Biff winked at him and said, “get him somewhere private, boys. When I’m done with her I’m going to teach Calvin here a lesson.”

The boys snickered. Marty fought, earning a punch to the gut for his troubles. Biff’s gang of thugs dragged him away, two carrying his legs and one lifting him by the armpits. One of them made a crack about warming him up for Biff and Marty lost it, breaking free and running for it. He collided with one of the guys from the band, stepping on his foot as he tried to keep running, gaping up at him like a fish and blubbering about how he wouldn’t let no one do it, not again. When the thugs caught up to him the injured musician rallied his other bandmates and they chased them off. The whole band helped Marty to his feet.

Marty stepped on the guitar player’s hand. He played the rest of the dance in his stead. He didn’t see Biff again in 1955.

 ***

Everything was different. That wasn’t a bad thing, Marty mused. His parents were happier. His brother worked a real grown-up job. His sister didn’t use those god-awful curlers. He was still with Jennifer. Things were okay.

Biff was a little weird. Marty wasn’t sure where the tyrannical bully from his timeline had gone, if he was still there under the surface or not. The man was still around more than Marty would have liked, but he was able to ignore him easier. This Biff would come in, say hi, and then go back to detailing the family cars. Marty felt almost guilty for still hating him. Lorraine, though a bit colder to him than others, was still friendly with Tannen. That relaxed Marty some.  

Marty sat in the living room, watching a TV show with his parents. While they weren’t sure why he suddenly wanted to be around them so much, they were grateful for the company. George and Lorraine were easier to talk to now, Marty found. They didn’t really keep secrets like they used to. Biff came into the house with a jovial smile, asking George for a drink of water. Marty tensed. George raised an eyebrow but said nothing to Marty, telling Biff to get some from the kitchen.

“George,” Biff called from the kitchen, “I can’t remember where you keep the cups. Can you give me a hand?”

George sighed and slowly stood up. He was still sore from golfing, Marty could tell. Marty stood up instead. “Don’t worry about it, Dad. I got it.”

“You sure, sweetie?” Lorraine asked. “If George is sore I can help Biff out.”

“No worries Mom, I got it.” He had to get over it at some point. This Biff wasn’t the same one who did those things to him. Marty wanted to give him a chance, he really did. Not for Biff’s sake, no. He needed to deal with it before his big date with Jennifer. Biff moved out of the way for him when Marty came in, reaching up to the top shelf for a cup.

Marty felt a hand on the small of his back. He turned. The friendly expression from earlier was gone. Biff’s smile seemed sharper somehow. He leaned in and pressed his lips to Marty’s ear. Marty felt sick.

“You know, Marty,” he said, “you look just like your mother.”

Marty felt his pocket. He still had the spray. It was in his normal clothes through the trip. He swallowed, setting the cup on the counter and pulling out the aerosol.

“That’s what they tell me,” he said, raising the nozzle to Biff’s eyes, “but only once.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I love Back to the Future. It's one of my favourite things ever. I wish this wasn't one of my first contributions to this fandom, but I've been going through some stuff in my own recovery and writing this was therapeutic for me. I hope I didn't ruin your childhood too much.


End file.
